Diminishing Lights
by WOATCAPIITON
Summary: Cullen's BullPen challenge. After a particularly wearisome case, both Agent and Anthropologist find comfort in conversation. [AngstComfort]


_Cullen's Bull-Pen Challenge. _

_BB talk about Brennan's disinterest in having children without changing her mind._

A/N_: Believe it or not, this oneshot actually started off fluffy, then it quickly turned to angst and proved how inept I am at writing happy fics. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy it, and at the end feel a compulsive urge to review._

_**(Plants subliminal message in story to install the urge to review)**_

_Oh, Oh, Oh, thanks to Riley for looking over this, and kisses to Sam for Beta-ing._

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_Diminishing Lights_

The low wattage of the bulb cast a lazy glow across his desk, the shadows in his office deeper in the corners, ominous slivers of darkness, midnight colours not quite reached by the faint tendrils of light produced by the lamp residing next to the plenitude of paperwork spread hazardously atop the dark mahogany desk.

A long sigh escaped the man seated behind the desk, an issue of breath spent to relieve the building pressure in his chest; anguish as deep as any heartbreaking cut, and in his case, cuts upon cuts made more than one scar. He felt battered, cracked and crippled by the devastating events that had taken place only hours earlier. The brutal exuberance displayed by the murder's hand upon one of the most innocent treasures there possibly was tore and bruised his very soul.

The current case file laid out in front of him – filled with gruesome, shocking pictures. He felt the churning in his stomach twitch uncomfortably.

He slammed his eyes shut, but the image of those children torn and broken still remained in his mind, haunted him, regardless of the darkness behind his eyelids. Mangled bodies, severed limbs, dark craters where eyes should have been, four disfigured little kids, at the mercy of a relentless murderer, unforgiving, deaths not equalled in life. There was no escape for his mind to retreat to; the living misery that was reality sharp and blunt at the same time.

It was always the loss of children that tugged and pulled and dragged his heart down. He retracted his thoughts. Loss was not the word to describe their demise. Termination was more than apt, he thought sombrely.

He opened his eyes, if only to escape the images in his mind temporarily. Leaning back in his high-backed chair, he extended his arms above his head and stretched his cramped muscles in his bone weary body. Looking at the ceiling, white washed and more intricately detailed than he would expect of a standard F.B.I building, he lost himself in the gentle curving of the ornate Scotia, his eyes following the design that wrapped around the square room.

With his thoughts adrift and his eyes lost on the walls, he was startled when there was a knock at his door. He blinked and sat up straighter, flicking his eyes to the intruder.

He summoned a small smile. "Hey, Bones." She smiled sombrely in return, and he was dismayed to see her usually animated baby blues now resemble a black abyss of despair. He gestured to the seat in front of him and she sat down on it.

"What brings you here at this time of the night?" He asked her, though he knew the answer well enough. He knew what brought her here.

She sighed and looked down at her hands clenched tightly together in her lap. She hesitated before she spoke. "The case. It was-"

She was silent, either unable to say the word, or unable to fathom the folds of her recently stripped emotions. She swallowed hard and scrunched her eyebrows together, creasing her forehead with confusion.

"Difficult?" He voiced.

She raised her head, her eyes locking on his for the first time since she walked in. "Yeah," she whispered, "It was. More so than usual."

"This wasn't a usual case, Bones."

"No." Pause. "It wasn't." She looked away then, down at the dark blue carpet. She didn't know what else to say, couldn't find a place to go from there. This case wasn't like usual, it changed…changed everything, yet strengthened what beliefs she did have, and altogether erased all doubts about the decisions she'd made, past, present, and future.

"Those kids, Booth..." She choked out, the slight sob in her words breaking the silence that had settled between them. She was fighting so damn hard, Booth saw, to keep herself together, when every piece of her world tumbled down around her. He got up from his seat and walked around to sit next to his partner. Pulling the seat forward until they were almost knee to knee, he sat down in the chair directly in front of her.

He looked at her, at the lip she pulled between her teeth, the unshed tears gathering like storm clouds in the corners of her eyes, the ruin he saw behind her exquisite orbs. He shouldn't have included her in this case. He took a risk and the risk turned benign.

He took her fisted hands in his and uncurled each finger. Her hands were cold, the skin smooth and soft, extending five delicate fingers.

"Just kids…" she murmured.

He sighed.

It was hard when the victims were children; it cut deeper than any blade, made death more profound, blacker than the darkest coal. Extinguished the last of the glowing embers of life, just when you thought you could wade your way through the ashes and reach higher land.

"It's the hardest, I know." With his thumb, he drew soft circles on her hand.

Everyone took a fall; he had found himself stumble more than once. But for her, it was like a bullet through the heart. When you were a victim as a child, as she was, relating with the victims in the case, the pawns in a self destructive game that was the world, easily manipulated by the rooks, bishops, knights, kings and queens; it was like suicide for the conscious.

"I'm sorry, Bones."

She glanced up him, through the curtain of hair that swept across her cheeks.

"I am too."

He felt guilt and shame, but he knew the psychological risks they took everyday. Knew what he got himself into. What he got her into.

Each case was bound to wear you down. How could it not? Most of the time he could use his body, the hard planes of his frame, his physical strength, his brain to protect her from that harm, from ever being scratched or bruised or hurt. But when she got shot with those cutting psychosomatic bullets…then he was as helpless as she, exposed to harmful words, broken bodies, grieving families, bloodshed. He had nothing to shield, no amour to protect her from that tortured picture.

"You'll be okay, Temperance." She was still, saying nothing. He put his finger under her chin and gently brought her gaze to meet his.

"Talk to me, Bones."

"I'm scared," she said softly.

"Of what?"

"That I won't be okay."

He smiled. "You will be."

"Yeah?" She questioned.

With conviction, he said: "Yeah."

She gave him a small smile.

"Feel better?"

She nodded, unable to look away from his face. His eyes were boring into hers, and she was frightened by the depth his brown gaze held. She turned her head, scared that he'd see everything she needed to lock away.

"Hey, hey." He said, "Look at me." He reached up and wrapped his hands lightly around her upper arms. She automatically stiffened under his touch, but her body's initial shock wore off and she visibly slumped in his hands. She let out a tremulous sigh, and wiped at the few errant tears that had fallen without her consent.

"It must be hard for you." she said at last.

He let his hands slide down to the junction of her elbows. "What?"

"The things you've seen. You have-"

"Parker." He knew what she was talking about. Today, everything was about children. His included.

She looked in the direction of his desk. In the corner stood a small frame, the glossy photograph within it showing a smiling boy no more than five staring up at them through a tangle of unruly blonde curls. She turned her eyes back to him, the dull gleam of the light playing over her features, softening each angle. She tilted her head back, until her face disappeared into depth only shadows travelled in.

He let out a shuddering breath. "Of course it's hard, Bones. Every parent lives with fear that their children…" his voiced wavered near the end and he closed his mouth, not able to finish that thought.

Puzzled, she asked: "Then why..?"

He shook his head. "What other choice is there? Parker is my life, Bones. He's everything I have."

"But if Rebecca never had gotten pregnant, would you still want kids now? After everything?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I would."

She shuffled in her seat, their knees brushing against each other.

"It's called faith, Bones. Faith that things can change for the better."

She cocked her head to the side and said sadly, "I guess I don't have a lot of that."

He put his hands on her knees. "I understand why you don't. Maybe if your life hadn't been so...hard…"

Pursing her lips, she said: "Maybe. But it wouldn't change my mind on having children."

"You don't know that. You would see the world differently; you'd have different opinions, different experiences to sculpt your outlook."

She shrugged. "This is how life turned out. Faith won't change anything, won't change my mind now."

"No?"

"No."

"So, no children?"

"Absolutely no children." She emphasised her words by swiping the air with her hand, "Never."

He stared at her for a moment, before he said: "You think this world is too harsh, too cruel for children, but you're wrong, Temperance. Children are exactly what this world needs. They're uncorrupted, pure and innocent, they remind us what we can be, what we need to strive for."

"What we've lost." She countered.

"You're too stubborn for your own good."

She didn't look as though she was about to fall apart, not like she did earlier and Booth allowed the weight on his chest to dissipate slightly.

"Takes one to know one." She retorted.

He chuckled. It sounded foreign to them after such devastation, but like a light at the end of the tunnel, it proved all hope was not lost. They would go on, perhaps not move on, but maybe get passed it just enough to get through the days ahead.

"Will you tell me if you change your mind?" He asked, giving her knees a gentle squeeze before leaning back and pressing his spine against the back of his chair.

"I don't change my mind."

He smiled. "You might."

She raised her eyebrows at him, the talk with him alleviating the week's events enough to make her believe the sharp forks of the case weren't as piercing as she first thought.

"I doubt it."

"Doubts are exactly what they are; doubts. As in not concrete, uncertain."

She swatted his thigh. "If I change my mind, which I won't, I promise to tell you, which I won't because I don't and won't change my mind."

He suppressed a grin. "If you say so, Bones."

She wrinkled her nose up in confusion. "I did say so…"

Unable to keep his smile hidden, he scratched behind his head, stood and extended his hand out to her. "C'mon, Bones, I'll drive you home."

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He went around his desk and grabbed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. He walked to the door and turned around in the doorway to look back at her when she spoke.

"Hey Booth?"

"Yeah Bones?"

"Thanks."

"For everything?" He teased.

Rolling her eyes, but with unhesitating certainty, she replied, "For everything."

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_There, you feel the urge to review, don't you. (Nods) You really do._

_It's funny what you write in the wee hours of morning, like before, I wrote "..slinging it over his head.." instead of shoulder. Then I got the mental image and giggled insanely for ten minutes before I realised that I was about to lose my marbles._

_People who review get my first born child. )_


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